


Trajectory

by amidststars



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-08 05:49:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20830430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amidststars/pseuds/amidststars
Summary: Progress was the natural goal of any alchemist.  To learn, to improve, to grow.  It only made sense that Ed could chart his and Mustang’s over the years like a tangible thing.  Then again, when you started at the bottom, the only way to go was up.Or: five times their touch led to goodbye, and the one time it didn’t.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So… this was supposed to be a short one shot. Then it turned into a long one shot. Then it turned into a multi-chap, which tells you just about all you need to know about my self-control. But the good news is that this fic is already finished so you can expect one chapter a day until we’re done!
> 
> A million thanks to [SJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/attraversiamo19/pseuds/attraversiamo19) for being a fabulous, reassuring beta and all-around amazing soundboard while I’ve screamed nonstop about this newest fandom obsession for the past couple months <3

15 October 1914

Ed couldn’t stop shaking. His teeth were gritted, hands clenched tight enough for his joints to ache, cheek still smarting with what was sure to become an impressive bruise. The yellow glow off the streetlamps backlit Mustang, throwing his face into shadow, but his sharp eyes gleamed out from the darkness, and Ed glared at him as if he could incinerate him through sheer force alone. That Mustang turned away without so much as a blink cut all the deeper.

“This bastard just killed Ross!” Ed snarled.

“What? He did?” Ed could tell the instant Al noticed the still-smoking corpse sprawled on the ground. He sucked in a sharp gasp, his grip lessening, and Ed used the distraction to slip free. “How could you do that, Colonel?”

“Maria Ross was a fugitive. Our orders were shoot to kill.” Mustang glanced back at them over his shoulder. “So I did.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

Mustang didn’t even flinch in the face of their anger. “About Hughes’ death… I apologize for hiding it. But you do not argue against orders, or ask for explanations. Just follow them. That’s what it means to be a soldier.”

“Yeah, lots of people keep telling me that,” Ed said. Follow orders, don’t ask questions. It was starting to sound like a broken record.

“There’s a reason for it. Perhaps it’s time you start listening.”

“Thing is, they don’t tell you that it’s basically code for _make this problem disappear_ and _don’t let this get out_ and _kill whoever gets in the way_.” Grasping at his bangs, Ed pressed his fists to his temples. “We’re alchemists. We’re supposed to be for the people.”

Mustang faced them once more. “No, we’re not, and neither are you.”

“I _am_, I—”

“You’re a dog of the military, Fullmetal. You gave up the right to that creed the minute you accepted the State’s pocket watch.”

Ed wasn’t sure which was worse: the sting of betrayal he felt from Mustang’s involvement, or the fact that he was right. Good thing he didn’t have to choose. Fuck Mustang, and fuck the truth. Fuck all of it. The Führer, the State, the brass, the other alchemists; everyone who’d ever blindly followed orders without asking questions. Fuck all of them, every single one.

“If that’s what it takes, I don’t want it anymore.” Ed yanked the watch from his pocket and scowled down at it. “I can’t play that game. I won’t.”

The metallic scraping of Al’s armor echoed in the alley. “Brother…”

“That’s fine,” Mustang said before Al could continue. “It’s your decision to make. No one’s forcing you to stay. Just be sure to hand in your watch before you leave.”

The remaining threads of Ed’s restraint snapped. With a growl, he turned and punched the building, forgoing automail for flesh and blood. He needed to feel the flare of pain that shot up his arm, needed something to match that blinding, righteous anger eating him up from the inside out. How could Mustang be so fucking calm? Didn’t it matter? Didn’t he—

“You know what the problem is here?” Ed asked, voice as strained and stretched thin as he felt. “No one fucking cares.”

“You think I don’t?” Mustang asked.

“No. Not about anyone but yourself.” Grinding his fist against the wall, Ed leaned into the bright edge of his anger. “If you did, you wouldn’t have done this. You would’ve given Ross a chance to explain. She was unarmed. She was _innocent_.”

“She was a criminal.”

Ed whirled around, ducked beneath Al’s outstretched arm, and stormed across the few feet separating them. It took everything in him not to grab onto Mustang’s jacket again. “You’re an idiot if you believe that. But even if she was, where do you draw the line between justice and revenge? Because that’s all this was. Revenge.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mustang said, coolly dismissive, and fuck if that didn’t hurt as bad as everything else.

Where was the guilt, the regret, the sadness? Ed needed something. _Anything_. Anything that would remind him of the person he’d grudgingly looked up to the past few years. Because if not… if that person had been a lie and this was the reality… but Mustang continued to meet his gaze, hard and unflinching, and Ed dug deep for something that would force a reaction. He refused to be alone in this. He wanted Mustang to hurt as much as he did.

“I know that Hughes didn’t live that way,” Ed said. “I know that if you cared about him as much as you claim, you would’ve understood that. He would’ve hated this. He would’ve hated you for it.” He might have hated Ed too for getting him mixed up in everything only to leave his family broken and alone, but that was a different pain altogether, and Ed couldn’t touch that, not right now.

Mustang’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, Fullmetal.”

“Or what, you’ll hit me again?” The space between them was virtually nonexistent as Ed growled up into Mustang’s face. “You just don’t want to hear that you’re as corrupt as all the rest of the military dogs. That you’re a hypocritical bastard shitting on Hughes’ memory by claiming to do this in his name when really it’s all for yourself.”

Mustang’s hand darted out faster than Ed could react, fisting in the front of his shirt and hauling him up onto his tiptoes.

“Brother!” Al cried out, but Ed motioned for him to stop. This was between him and Mustang.

The distant sound of sirens began to arc above the silence, investigators and military personnel and fuck knew who else rushing to the scene. Neither of them moved, though. Mustang’s expression was dark, furious, and for the first time since they’d met, Ed felt the slightest trace of… not fear, more the realization of what Mustang might be truly capable when pushed over the edge. _Good_, Ed thought. This was what he’d been after.

“Go on.” Ed’s lip curled into a taunting sneer. “Do it.”

For a moment, it really seemed like Mustang would. The fingers in Ed’s shirt tightened, the knuckles digging into his throat trembled, the eyes boring into his glinted dangerously. Mustang lifted him higher, just a little bit, just enough to make him instinctively scrabble for balance on the very tips of his toes.

And then, nothing.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch. The rage bled out of Mustang in an instant, leaving only a cold, stony shell behind as he lowered Ed to the ground and shoved him towards the wall. Al rushed over, but Ed barely noticed. He couldn’t look away from Mustang, who simply tucked his hands into his pockets and lifted his chin, gaze hard-edged as he stared Ed down.

“You don’t know the first thing about Hughes. Or me. You’re just a kid who still has a lot to learn about the world,” Mustang said. “Now, why don’t you sit there and cool off. And put that back in your pocket.” His eyes flicked to the watch dangling from Ed’s belt. “All that bravado’s wasted when we both know you’re not going to give this up.”

A fresh rush of anger swelled in Ed’s chest at the abandoned fight. The way Mustang always looked at him, talked to him, treated him like a fucking _child_.

“I hate you,” Ed whispered, injecting as much vehemence as possible into the three simple words.

Mustang didn’t even have the decency to appear fazed. “Someday you’ll understand why I do the things I do.” Then, with a sharp nod, he turned and made his way to stand at the end of the alley.

“No, I won’t,” Ed spat after him. “You’re a murderer. There’s nothing else to understand.”

At the end of the alley, Mustang braced one shoulder against the corner of the building and tilted his head to the hazy glow of Central reflecting off the clouds. His sigh resulted in a long stream of fog that hovered in the chilly night air before being slowly pulled away by the breeze.

“That I am, Fullmetal,” he said as the first of several cars pulled up to the scene. “That I am.”


	2. Chapter 2

13 April 1915

“Well, look who it is. The hero of the hour, the savior of Amestris, the—”

“Can it, Colonel.” Ed shouldered the door closed behind him, somehow managing not to spill coffee from either of the two cups in his hands, and jerked his head back towards the hall. “I’m getting enough of that out there.”

“I imagine you are,” Mustang said with a grin. “I’ve heard increasingly exaggerated tales of how brave and self-sacrificing you were from three different nurses so far today, and their shifts only started forty-five minutes ago.”

Ed’s face twisted into a scowl. For fuck’s sake, would it never end?

“Yeah, I think I ran into one of them,” he grumbled. “Wanted me to sign something, but the only paper she had was someone’s medical chart. It’ll be just my luck to get arrested for accidentally impersonating a doctor after all this.”

Mustang chuckled. “What else did you expect? You were pretty heroic.” 

“I’m also the one who’s going to kick your ass if you keep bringing that up. I don’t care if you are still a patient. I’ll also dump this extra coffee down the sink just because.” Obviously, he wouldn’t – he’d drink it himself before it came to that – but it was worth a try. Stomping across the room, Ed shoved the second cup into the empty space between them. “Now, do you want this or not?”

If Mustang’s persistent grin was anything to go by, he didn’t believe a word Ed had said, but he didn’t call Ed’s bluff either, so that was at least something. Instead, he leaned forward just enough to eye the still-closed door to the room.

“They’re only allotting me so much caffeine, and I’ve already had my eight ounces for the day.”

“Sure, let’s worry about breaking doctor’s orders. It’s not like you just staged a coup or anything.” Ed extended the coffee a little more. “Just take the damn thing, would you? One more cup’s not gonna kill you.”

Mustang slowly took the proffered cup, but whatever hesitation he might’ve had wavered as he folded his hands around it and brought it close to breathe in the steam. “For the record, it’s not the doctors I’m worried about. Or dying.”

That was the understatement of the century. Ed nodded as he settled into the bedside chair. “If the lieutenant comes in, I’ll distract her long enough for you to chunk the evidence.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Mustang said. “Even if this unusually magnanimous side of you makes me inherently suspicious.”

“I just don’t want my money to go to waste.”

“Of course. Either way, thank you for this.” Mustang lifted his cup. “It’s much appreciated.”

Grumbling out some garbled, unintelligible version of _yeah, yeah, you’re welcome_, Ed slouched back in the chair, extended his legs, and crossed one ankle over the other. There were three bouquets of flowers on a table by the window that he tried to focus on – it had barely been a week; how could anyone have scraped together flowers that quick? – but his attention kept sliding over as Mustang took a small sip of his coffee and sighed in contentment.

It would’ve been easy to leave it at that. Let Mustang enjoy his extra dose of caffeine and book it back to Al’s room. But Ed wouldn’t. He _couldn’t_. He had to know. Now if only he could figure out a halfway decent way to bring it up. Figured… Truth could show him the ins and outs of performing alchemy without the use of a transmutation circle but not the basics of human conversation.

Ed swirled his coffee so vigorously that some of it splashed out onto the back of his hand. It was still hot enough to burn, and his instinctive jerk drew Mustang’s gaze. Ed could feel it as he scrubbed his hand against his pants.

“So,” Mustang said once Ed was done. “Are you planning to get to the point sometime today? I know you didn’t come here just to smuggle me coffee.”

There it was.

Ed supposed he should be grateful. Mustang had opened the door, giving him the perfect segue instead of letting him stumble his way through it. And yet…

Brows pinched, Ed stared down intently at his cup, at the way one of his fingers tapped a restless, disjointed rhythm against it. Normally, that kind of comment would’ve earned Mustang a sharp retort. There was a small sliver of Ed that enjoyed goading and bantering with the colonel, after all, even if he’d never admit to it. But the instinctive response went cold and still in his chest as the words crawled up his throat. Irrefutable facts were so much heavier than vague rumors and suspicions, and he couldn’t argue when the evidence was all there, laid out before him. Concrete. Final.

“People were talking,” Ed eventually managed. “I needed to see for myself if what they were saying was true.”

“And?”

Mustang’s eyes were still fixed on Ed when he glanced up through his bangs. Those clear, dark, focused eyes. Eyes that could _see_. Evidence, quite literally staring Ed in the face. How was it possible to be relieved and disgusted all at the same time?

“They were right. I didn’t want to believe it, but… I think a part of me already knew.”

The silence stretched out between them as they regarded one another until Mustang blinked and looked away. “I figured avoiding this would be too much to ask.” With a sigh, he settled back against the pillows. “Go on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

“Over with? Over—” Ed gritted his teeth, biting off the rest. He wasn’t sure if he was more upset about the fact that Mustang had actually gone through with it or his blasé attitude regarding the whole ordeal. “How could you do that? After everything we went through, knowing what it took to _make_ that thing?”

Mustang shook his head. “It’s not as simple as all that.”

“People _died_ to make that philosopher’s stone. A lot of them. And you used it to get your sight back. I don’t think it gets much simpler than that.”

“You’re upset,” Mustang said, frustratingly calm. “I understand that, and I’m not trying to invalidate the way you feel. But the world isn’t black and white.”

“Good and bad do exist, though, and that philosopher’s stone was bad!”

“Was it?”

“What?” Ed growled out and straightened in the chair. His hands were shaking so much he had to set his cup down before he went and spilled the whole thing. Or dumped it over Mustang’s head. It would serve him right, the bastard. “How the hell can you—”

“If something was created with bad intentions, does that mean it can never be used for good?” Mustang smoothly cut him off. 

“So the end justifies the means. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Of course not.” Mustang looked offended that Ed would even suggest that. “I’m saying you can’t go through life viewing things as only good or only bad. Amestris was founded for evil, does that mean we should burn it to the ground? Should we kill Selim Bradley just because he’s a homunculus? When do we judge the creator versus the creation? In the end, the philosopher’s stone was just that: a stone. Nothing more, nothing less. The proclivity for good or bad… well, that depends on the person who possesses it.”

Ed’s heart knocked painfully against the inside of his rib cage. Resting his elbows on his knees, he lowered his head so he could glare daggers at the floor. Fucking Mustang and his choices and his rationalizations.

Ed blew out a lengthy sigh, squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed at them with the heels of his hands hard enough for stars to wink in the darkness. Maybe he should’ve considered a different approach. It was too early for deep discussions of morality. He hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

“Do you think using the stone made me evil?” Mustang asked quietly after a moment.

Ed lowered his hands and stared absently at his intertwined fingers. It was still a bit surreal, not seeing the steely flash of automail. “I don’t think it made you good.”

“Shades of gray.” Some of the gravity had bled from Mustang’s voice, and Ed looked up to see one side of his mouth quirked in a hint of a smile. “See, you’re already making progress.”

“I’m being serious, Colonel.”

“So am I.”

“Getting your eyesight back doesn’t benefit anyone else, though,” Ed accused, sitting up once more. “You did that all for yourself. It may not have been necessarily bad, but it was a selfish choice. Selfish and greedy and—”

“Memorable.”

Ed paused. “Come again?”

“Tell me, Fullmetal, did it ever occur to you to ask _why_ I used the stone?” Mustang asked instead. When Ed hesitated, a furrow deepened between his brows. “The thing about war is that it never really leaves you. Sometimes it’s like I’m still there. In Ishval. And I—”

An almost imperceptible shudder worked its way through Mustang’s shoulders. Blinking hard, he turned his attention to the rumpled sheet covering his legs. He looked so lost. Worse, even, than during his fight with Envy, which was a staggering thought all in itself because Ed had never been more afraid for Mustang than that moment he’d lost sight of who he was.

Ed could never fully understand without having taken part in the war himself, but seeing Mustang like that, haunted by the past, gave more weight to the enormity of what happened than his imagining ever would.

“I can never take back the things I did,” Mustang continued after a moment. “But I _can_ do my best to make amends. That’s why I’ve committed my life to seeing Ishval restored. Knowing that, Dr. Marcoh offered to heal me with the stone. He said it was made with Ishvalan lives, so it was only right for it to be used in a way that would eventually help them.”

“So… you…”

Looking back to him, Mustang tapped one finger beneath his eye. “I have to live with this for the rest of my life. Every time I open my eyes, I’ll remember that the only reason I can see is because of those men’s sacrifice. It’s a constant reminder of what I want to do. The man I want to be.”

Just like that, the tension in Ed’s chest eased. A stubborn sliver of it remained, of course, because he couldn’t bring himself to agree with the fundamental morality, but… Mustang wasn’t wrong. Or bad. And if he intended to spend the rest of his life righting his wrongs then maybe it was worth it. Maybe. Hopefully. Ed had to believe that.

“You’re still upset.”

Ed lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Disappointed.”

“Upset,” Mustang insisted.

“Resigned.” When Mustang arched a brow, Ed slumped back in the chair and crossed his arms. “Alright, fine. Maybe a little upset. But you’ve carried us this far, and I want to believe in you. I do. Just make sure you continue to do the right thing. Because if you don’t…”

“You’ll what?”

“I don’t know, but it won’t be pretty,” Ed said.

Mustang offered him a crooked smile. “Duly noted. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Good. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Accountability didn’t matter much, though, when the person in question was Mustang. Ed doubted and worried and wondered about how a lot of things would play out in the coming years, but not this. Mustang would do fine. Better than fine, actually. And he would’ve _been_ fine even if he’d stayed blind. But being able to see sure as hell didn’t hurt if he still hoped to become Führer one day.

“At least Dr. Marcoh didn’t mess up,” Ed continued, dipping his chin pointedly.

The fingers of Mustang’s free hand twitched as if he was going to reach to his face again before flattening out purposefully on the bed. “No one’s run screaming from the room yet, so I assume they look okay.”

“Same as they always did. Still brown. Still full of shit.”

“And here I thought you were going to tell me I had pretty eyes.”

Ed snorted. “Must be some top-notch painkillers they have you on if you think that.” Even still, an awkward flush warmed the back of his neck. He tried to hide the completely unwelcome reaction by leaning down to pick up his now-lukewarm coffee. What the fuck was that about?

“Must be,” Mustang agreed with a chuckle. The sound trailed off, and his expression shifted into something Ed could only describe as soft. He’d caught glimpses of it before – that easy set of his mouth, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes – when Mustang looked at his team. Ed had just never seen it directed at him. “You know, it’s going to be awfully quiet around here without you.”

“Quiet might be nice after all this.” Ed guzzled down the rest of his coffee in one go and tossed the container in the trash. “Anyway, it’s only a leave of absence. Just until Al’s back on his feet.”

“Take all the time you need.”

“Thanks. Well, I guess I should go. There’s a lot to take care of before we head out for Resembool.” Standing, Ed made it halfway to the door before stopping. He hesitated, then crossed back to the hospital bed and held out a hand. “See you later, Colonel.”

Mustang’s eyes never wavered as he reached out to grasp Ed’s hand. The contact caused Ed’s whole arm to tingle, sparks flickering across his skin. Everything was still so sensitive. He didn’t know how Al managed without going crazy from overstimulation. Even this little bit had him fighting back a shiver. If Mustang noticed, though, he didn’t let on, just shook Ed’s hand and offered that same, soft smile.

“Goodbye, Fullmetal. Take care.”


	3. Chapter 3

27 September 1915

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Ed stirred the contents of the bowl with more force than necessary. “It’s sugar and milk. How hard can it be?”

“You also need butter. And vanilla,” Al said, glancing at the recipe. “Maybe you should let me help.”

“It’s just frosting, Al. This should be easy compared to alchemy.” Ed paused long enough to add in the forgotten butter. “Besides, if Winry can do it, so can I.”

“If you say so.” A shadow fell over the bowl as Al peeked over Ed’s shoulder. “It looks a little… runny. Did you use powdered sugar or regular sugar?”

Ed paused. “There’s a difference?” Now that Al mentioned it, the concoction wasn’t nearly as fluffy as he remembered from the times he’d watched Winry or Granny ice cakes.

“Well, the recipe specifically says powdered.”

God damn it.

Growling under his breath, Ed set down the bowl of watery, half-mixed imitation icing. “Great, now we have to start all over. We should’ve just bought Winry some tools for her birthday. Whose idea was it to make a fucking cake?”

“Yours,” Al said with a laugh that made Ed scowl. Oh, yeah. “But it’ll be fine, Brother. Don’t be dramatic.” Al disappeared around the corner, and when he crossed by again, he was shrugging on a jacket on his way to the front door. “I’m just going to run to the neighbors for more milk, then we can— oh!”

Ed poked his head out of the kitchen and instantly deflated at the familiar figure silhouetted in the doorway. First the icing, now this? As if the day could get any worse. He could practically feel the lecture coming on.

“Good morning, Colonel!” Al said, far more graciously than Ed could’ve managed… well, ever, probably. “This is a nice surprise. We weren’t expecting you.”

“Hello, Al. It’s good to see you again. You’re looking well.” Mustang’s eyes slid past Al to scan the room, and Ed ducked behind the kitchen wall, hopefully before he’d been spotted. “Sorry to drop in unannounced. I was in the area and thought I’d stop by for a visit.”

Plastered against the wall, Ed had to bite back a derisive snort.

In the area his ass.

“Although it looks like you’re on your way out,” Mustang said. “I’ll just go. I don’t want to hold you up.”

“No, it’s no trouble at all. Please come in!”

Ed slapped a hand to his forehead. So much for that. Al had to know that this was no surprise visit. Mustang never did anything without planning every single detail out beforehand. That meant Al was just being his normal, unfailingly polite self. Ed would probably hate him if he didn’t love him so god damn much.

“I actually do have to pick up something, but I should be back shortly. Brother’s in the kitchen if you’d like to talk to him. It’s just through that door.”

A strain of panic sliced through Ed, and he darted across the room in search of something that would make it look like he hadn’t been skulking around listening in. The dishrag? No, Al had already washed everything in the sink. The pack of multi-colored candles? No, there was nothing he could do with them until the cake was done. The apron Al had laid over one of the chairs? Fuck, that was even worse.

Ed lunged for the mixing bowl as a last resort and picked it up just as a pair of footsteps enter the kitchen. Whirling around, he narrowed his eyes at the teasing smile that was already creeping across Mustang’s face. Not that it did any good, of course, but it was a matter of principle. They were obligated to butt heads after so long apart. _Especially_ after so long apart.

“What are you doing here?” Ed asked in a spectacular example of why he should never be allowed to answer the door first.

“Hello to you, too, Fullmetal. It’s good to know some things never change.” Easing further into the kitchen, Mustang side-eyed the bowl clutched in Ed’s hands. He was alone. Apparently, Al had ditched him, the traitor. “But sometimes change is good. The country life suits you. I’ve never seen you look so domestic.”

“This is— I’m not— it’s a surprise for Winry. A cake. For her birthday. We’re planning to—” It really was a miracle the bowl hadn’t cracked already, considering how tightly he held it. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”

“A cake, hm?” Mustang said, pointedly ignoring the question as he looked at the cake cooling on the table. “It turned out nice. I take it that’s the icing?

“Yes.” Ed glanced down at the botched mixture. “Uh, no. It was supposed to be, but we… messed up.”

“It happens to the best of us.”

“Not anymore it won’t. This is the _last_ time I’m attempting something like this. I know minerals and compounds and elements, not…” Ed released one side of the bowl to gesture vaguely at the kitchen.

Arching a brow, Mustang surveyed the counter. “Baking ingredients?” he suggested. “Or did you mean customary household goods?”

Ed leveled him with a stern look. “Very funny. I’d offer for you to show me how it’s done, but I’d rather just skip to the part where you tell me why you’re here. And don’t give me that _in the area_ bullshit. I know better than that.”

“Ah, so you were listening. I thought I saw you.” Mustang’s smug expression was eerily similar to Al’s the time he’d caught Ed sneaking scraps of food to a stray kitten after having said they couldn’t keep it. Before Ed could decide how best to respond, though, Mustang was withdrawing an envelope from his pocket. “Very well,” he said. “I’ve come to personally deliver your final compensation.”

Ed blinked. “Final compensation?”

“Yes.” Mustang held out the envelope and offered a salute that would’ve been believable if not for the slight quirk of his lips. “On behalf of Führer Grumman and the people of Amestris, I’d like to thank you for your service.”

Setting aside the bowl for the second time, Ed slowly crossed the room, took the envelope, and lifted the flap. Inside was a thick wad of bills. Skeptical, he looked up at Mustang. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“If it is, I hope I’m their next victim. From what I understand, the State was quite generous.”

“But I don’t work for the State anymore. Haven’t for almost a month,” Ed said, more than a little confused. What the hell was going on?

“Hence the term _final compensation_.” Mustang shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the dining table. “It’s granted to all military individuals who have been honorably discharged.”

“I wasn’t honorably discharged, though. I left on my own.”

Mustang pulled another piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and pretended to read over it. “Are you sure? Because these records say you were honorably discharged for, and I quote, _immeasurable services to the State of Amestris and bravery in the face of great danger_.”

“That’s a load of bullshit,” Ed said, willing down the embarrassed flush threatening to spread across his face. He still hated when people made a big deal out of it.

Returning the paper to his pocket, Mustang shrugged. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, it would be an insult to refuse it after _someone_ went through all the trouble of making it happen.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I asked _someone_ to do it. This is… too much. It’s too much.” Ed tucked the flap back into the envelope and held it out. “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept this, Colonel.”

“Brigadier General,” Mustang corrected, tapping the new set of golden bars that had been added to his jacket. “Forgive me, I’m quite proud.”

Ed snorted. “I’m sure you are. But like I was saying, y— no one needed to pull any strings on my account. We’re getting by just fine. Al and I have plenty of side jobs to keep us busy, and Winry… actually, Winry makes enough to support all of us by herself, but the point…” He shook the envelope for emphasis. “Is that I don’t need this.”

“It’s not about need, Fullmetal. I know you’re perfectly capable of getting by on your own.” Mustang laid one hand over Ed’s on the envelope and pushed it back. “This is just a gesture of appreciation for everything you’ve done. That’s all.”

Silence settled over the kitchen. Ed was still exerting enough pressure that Mustang hadn’t withdrawn his hand yet, but his resolve was crumbling. It was true, they managed just fine. But that much money could also do a lot of good. Not only for themselves, but for Winry and Granny and so many others.

The space between them lessened as Mustang leaned forward and whispered, “This is the part where you stop fighting me on this and take the money. Maybe say thank you if you’re feeling generous.”

Ed maintained what felt like an impressive glare for a few seconds before yanking the envelope free. “Fine, you stubborn bastard.” Brushing past Mustang, he laid the money on the table, then stood there, absently staring at it. They were going to be able to help so many people. He couldn’t wait to see Al’s reaction. “Thank you,” he said quietly. No sarcasm, no animosity. Just gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” Mustang replied in a similar tone. The floorboards creaked, a telltale sign that he’d shifted closer. “Why didn’t you tell me you were quitting?”

“Because I knew you’d try to talk me out of it.”

“So you left me to be caught unaware by the Führer? I had no idea what he was talking about for a solid forty-five seconds. I probably looked like an idiot.”

“But that’s such a good look on you,” Ed said, grinning as he spun the envelope in a circle. “You should wear it more often.”

The witty retort Ed had been expecting never came, only a silence so thick it was almost tangible. He could feel the weight of it as he turned, and the grin slid from his face as he met Mustang’s pensive gaze.

“When I said take all the time you need, I didn’t think you meant forever,” Mustang said.

“I didn’t either, but…” Ed rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t used to talking about these kind of things with anyone other than Al. “Things are different now. Al needed more time. And space. I did too.”

Mustang nodded. “No one can fault you for that. How is Al, by the way? Really?”

“Well, he just got over a cold because he keeps sneaking outside every time it rains, and sometimes he has insomnia from so many years of not being able to sleep, but other than that, he’s good. Ecstatic, actually. He’s always touching things. It’s just… it’s been so long, you know? Since he felt any of that. He’ll go on and on for hours about how everything smells or feels or tastes.” A fond smile pulled at Ed’s mouth as he leaned on one of the chairs. “God, he’s eaten so much food. First thing he did when we got back was put away almost an entire— shit!”

Without warning, the cracked spindles on the chair that he’d been meaning to replace since last week gave way, and Ed stumbled backwards. He instinctively threw out an arm to catch himself but only succeeded in taking the cake down with him. Landing hard on his tailbone, he looked up just in time to see the cake topple over the edge of the table in slow motion.

There were plenty of things more embarrassing than ending up sprawled out on the floor amidst the broken pieces of the chair with cake smeared over his head and shoulder, but Ed couldn’t think of any right then. Typical. He’d barely sat up, though, before Mustang was kneeling down in front of him.

“Allow me,” Mustang said and proceeded to transmute the cake back into one piece.

It was a simple gesture. Automatic. Mustang probably hadn’t even thought twice about it. Ed wouldn’t have either if it wasn’t for the currents of electricity that filled the air. He froze in place as they raced across his nerves, short-circuited his every last thought, and lit him the fuck up. It was the headiest rush he’d felt in months. God, it was fucking _euphoric_.

Mustang leaned forward, inserting his face into Ed’s line of sight, and his worried expression gradually blurred into focus. “Well,” he began carefully, “I was going to ask how you were as well, but I think that answers my question.”

Apparently, Ed must have looked as shell-shocked as he felt.

“I—” The word came out strangled. Ed cleared his throat and tried again. “Things aren’t bad. I’m not… I just… felt it for a second. Alchemy. The energy of the transmutation.”

Mustang’s worry shifted into something tinged with sadness. “It’s still gone, then.”

Lowering his eyes, Ed lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “It’s not a big deal. Not really. It was worth it, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but— yeah. And Al tries not to use alchemy around me. I think he’s scared of reminding me that I can’t do it anymore, which is stupid because— well, anyway, it’s been a while since I’ve been around it. I didn’t know that would happen, that I’d be able to feel it. It… surprised me, is all.”

Ed clamped his mouth shut so hard his teeth clicked together. Surprised was a hell of an understatement. Fucking blindsided was more accurate, and the fading sensations didn’t help. It was like someone had presented him with a priceless treasure only to sucker punch him, then kick him while he was down for good measure. And take back the treasure, of course.

The worst part about it wasn’t necessarily the loss, though.

It was the change.

Alchemy had been ingrained into his very being for so long, it was hard to remember a time before it. Every day got a little bit easier, but he was still learning how to live without. It was a constant battle. He’d lost count of how many times he’d prepared to transmute something only for reality to crash into him at the last second. Having Al back made everything better, but that ache still lingered. Funny how he’d ended up trading one phantom pain for another.

“You’ve been practicing,” Ed said in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. “At least now you’re good for something more than lighting candles.”

Mustang’s mouth twitched. “I’m trying to diversify my skills to remain useful.”

“Fire and baked goods. You must be indispensable.”

“Why do you think they gave me a promotion?” The image of Mustang snapping a cupcake into existence eased the brittle edge of hurt. It might have even dispelled it completely if Mustang’s half-smile would’ve reached his eyes. “You can talk to me,” he said softly. “If you want.”

Ed sighed. “What’s there to talk about? Al’s back. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“There’s nothing wrong with saying you miss alchemy. It doesn’t cheapen what you did.”

Didn’t it, though? Missing skimmed too close to regret, and Ed refused to think along those lines. Not when they’d succeeded.

And yet…

“It’s all so fucking stupid,” Ed growled, scrubbing one hand across his face. “We’re here. We’re alive. I have no reason to complain or be sad, but what am I doing? Sitting here on the floor like a fucking addict craving another hit and—”

“Do you want to?”

Pausing, Ed peeked out from beneath his fingers. “Do I want to what?”

“Feel it again.” Mustang picked up a couple pieces of the chair. “I could fix it. It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Ed shifted, and the other fragments of wood around his legs clattered. It was only a chair. If he couldn’t repair it himself later, they could throw it out and get a new one. But the opportunity was right there in front of him, a carrot on a string. He could feel it again, just this once, just one more time to— Ed gritted his teeth. No, he couldn’t do that. There was no need for Mustang to… doing it again would only drag things… why even bother when…

“I know what you’re thinking, Edward,” Mustang said. “But it’s not weakness. It’s closure.”

Ed’s pulse thundered in his ears. He wanted to argue, but his mind was a mess, and not just from the passing surprise of hearing his name said so casually. Maybe Mustang was right. Maybe he did need this. And seeing how it was something he would never ask of Al, this was his only chance. No one else in Resembool knew how to perform alchemy. Damn it, he was going to owe Mustang a lot more than a handful of cenz after this.

“Okay.” Resolve settled over Ed as he sighed and stood. “Okay.”

He stepped to one side so Mustang could gather the broken chair into a pile, but before he started the transmutation, Ed’s arm darted out unbidden. Mustang looked down at the two fingers touching lightly to his arm, then at Ed who couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze.

“Sorry,” Ed whispered but didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry, but can I…? While you…?”

_Please_, he thought. And at the same time: _please don’t make me say it_ since even when he was holding on by a thread, a faint trace of pride and dignity remained.

Mustang dipped his chin. “Of course.”

And fuck, that was a relief because Ed wasn’t sure he could’ve let go if he tried. That small point of contact was like a lifeline, vital. He was in the way of the transmutation, though, so he trailed his hand over Mustang’s shoulder to flatten against his back.

There was no warning.

A sharp clap. A flare of light.

Then energy, swelling and pulsing and _real_. It coursed through his hand, up his arm, and into his chest where it burned at the very core of his being like some falling, fractured star. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely _breathe_. In that moment, nothing else mattered. It was just him and the flow of alchemy in his veins. He felt so god damn _alive_.

The sensations were gone as quickly as they’d begun. The world systematically began to notch itself into place like pieces of a puzzle, and it took one, two, three deep breaths before Ed drifted down from his high enough to realize he wasn’t standing anymore so much as clinging.

One hand was still flat on Mustang’s back, but the other was fisted in the uniform near his waist. Ed had curled forward too, his forehead now resting in the dip of muscle between Mustang’s shoulder blade and his spine. He didn’t remember moving, but there he was, torn somewhere between another round of embarrassment and elation as the memory of the aftershocks kept time with the quick-fire pace of Mustang’s heartbeat beneath his palm.

Ed lost track of how much time went by. It seemed like forever until he was able to relax his hand, and even then, it didn’t fall away, just hung onto the hem of the jacket. Moving any more than that was beyond the scope of his abilities right then.

“Are you okay?” Mustang eventually asked, voice soft.

“Yeah, I…” Ed closed his eyes, took another deep breath, felt the answering rise and fall of Mustang’s back. “I’m fine. I’m good.”

“If I knew the key to getting you to calm down was repairing household furniture, I would’ve picked up the habit years ago.”

Ed huffed a laugh into the well-worn fabric of Mustang’s uniform. “Shut up.” Then, because at least a few of the manners his mom instilled in him had stuck: “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The muscles beneath Ed’s face shifted, and Mustang lightly – so lightly he couldn’t tell if he was imagining it at first – brushed his knuckles against the hand still holding onto his jacket. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Asking once was common courtesy. Twice edged into concern and caring and… Ed wasn’t sure if he could handle any more of that. He’d reached his limit for the day. Possibly even his life, when it came to Mustang. They were deep in unfamiliar territory, and while it wasn’t necessarily bad, it did layer complicated thoughts over an already complicated afternoon.

Gathering up the splintered remnants of his self-control, Ed lifted his head and stepped back. Mustang turned into the empty space to face him, and if their fingers were the last thing to fall apart, neither of them called any attention to it.

“Yeah,” Ed said again.

This time it at least felt a little more genuine.

Mustang nodded, but there was a guardedness about him that surprised Ed when their eyes met. Whatever the cause, it didn’t stem from anger. He’d seen Mustang angry, and this wasn’t the same, not even close. It was more contemplative than that. Meditative. As if he’d come to some revelation that threw even him and thought he could disguise it behind the too-tight clench of his teeth. Ed didn’t know what that meant. He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know what that meant.

“Alright. I suppose I should get out of your hair, then.” Mustang tucked his hands into his pockets. Fists, rather. In the split-second before they disappeared, Ed spotted them, clenched tightly and white-knuckled. “Unless you need me to stay until Al gets back.”

“No.” Ed waved a hand, dismissing the offer with as much nonchalance as he could muster. “Go on, get out of here. You don’t have to stick around.”

And that was it.

Whether or not he managed to be convincing, Mustang was leaving.

Ed trailed him to the front door, stood silently on the threshold, watched as Mustang made his way down the steps. Perked up just the slightest when he paused halfway to look back over his shoulder. In the sharp afternoon sunlight, Ed could clearly see the way Mustang’s jaw worked over itself for a moment before relaxing.

“You know,” Mustang said, “you’re always welcome to come to East City.”

Ed swallowed. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You wouldn’t. Come visit sometime, even if it’s just for an afternoon. Or call. The team would be happy to hear from you.”

“You’re busy. Supposed to be, anyway.”

Mustang chuckled. “I can make time.”

A light breeze stirred the strands of hair that always hung above Mustang’s eyes, and Ed pushed his own bangs aside when they got in the way. They’d circled right back around to him not knowing what the hell was going on or why or if it meant anything. Requesting visits, the seamless transition from _the team_ to _you_ and _I_… at this rate, he was going to get fucking whiplash.

“I’ll write,” he conceded.

That felt safe. Safer, at any rate. And it must have been good enough because Mustang smiled, turned away, and continued down the rest of the steps. “Until next time, Edward,” he called back, lifting one hand in farewell.

Ed didn’t answer, just watched him go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's left kudos or comments so far! They're very much appreciated.
> 
> Also, happy FMA day!!! <3

8 March 1916

Ed hated sheep.

No, that wasn’t true. He didn’t hate all sheep. Their general existence had provided him with a seasonal job when he was young, which put food on the table, which more or less kept him and Al alive. Then again, the cumulative six-and-three-quarter months of experience was also the reason he’d been drafted into the shearing demonstration at this year’s Sheep Festival so it was kind of a mixed bag.

The point was, not all sheep were inherently bad.

But the one he was currently dealing with kind of was.

Ed helped the young girl run the shears through the thick wool. The sheep stood dutifully still until the girl had finished and climbed out of the pen. Then it turned and kicked Ed soundly in the shin. His good shin. Because of course the damn thing knew better than to aim for the automail.

Biting back a curse, Ed went down on one knee to the sound of muffled laughter. Most of the spectators were kids with their parents, but one low chuckle in particular caught his attention. Figured… the guy couldn’t follow an order to save his life. The sheep whuffed a grassy exhale in his face, and Ed simultaneously shoved its head away and stood, an idea taking hold.

“Alright folks, we only have time for one more participant, and since tonight’s the last night of the festival, I’d like to choose a special guest.” Ed pointed into the crowd. “Brigadier General Roy Mustang.”

To his credit, Mustang managed to keep a straight face. Only someone who knew him would’ve recognized that thin-lipped smile for what it really meant.

Mustang shook his head. “I don’t think—”

“Nonsense,” Ed cut in. “You’ve come all this way, you should at least get the full experience. Don’t be shy. Come on, everyone, let’s give him a little encouragement.”

The crowd cheered, and Ed flashed his best shit-eating grin as Mustang gave him one long, hard look before climbing over the fence. “You know,” he said beneath the noise once he was close enough, “this wasn’t quite what I expected when I received your letter.”

It would've been more impressive if Mustang _had_ known what to expect. Ed hadn't given him much to go on, after all, which was probably why he'd shown up in trousers and a button-down too fancy for Resembool's nicest occasions, much less a festival centered around all things sheep. Or maybe that was simply the most casual outfit Mustang owned. He wasn't exactly known for half-assing things.

Ed’s grin widened as Mustang systematically rolled his sleeves up to the elbow. “Then you should’ve stayed at the dunking booth with Al like I told you until I was done.”

“Well, at least you finally got my rank right. It only took six months.”

“I’ve been practicing.” Ed twirled the shears around his fingers, then held them out. “Okay, you take these, and I’ll hold onto the wool. This is the last section, so it shouldn’t be hard.” Looping one arm around the sheep’s neck to keep it in place, he held the thick section that had already been shorn out of Mustang’s way. “Try to get as close to the body as you can. Good, that’s… hey, that’s actually really good. Just be careful not to—”

The sheep jerked, and Mustang hit the ground with a grunt.

“Shit!”

Ed rushed around the back of the sheep instead of heeding his own advice, which earned him another kick, this time a glancing blow to the groin. Automatically cupping himself, Ed fell to his knees beside Mustang who was still lying face down on the ground. He wavered there for a minute before flopping forward, landing sideways across Mustang’s back.

“Go behind it,” Ed finished, groaning into the grass. "Guess I should’ve started out with the warning, but the sheep only kicks people with a mentality greater than that of the average five year old, so I thought you’d be safe.”

Mustang grunted again. “Nice. By the way, is this what the world really looks like from your angle? No wonder you’re always so angry.” A weak attempt to knee him in the ribs earned Ed a weary laugh. “Sorry, were. Past tense. You’re much more amiable now that you’ve grown a couple inches.”

“I’ll show you amiable just as soon as I can actually stand up.” Ed did a complicated wriggle-roll maneuver until he was laid out on the grass. After a brief thank you to whoever might be listening that he hadn’t landed in the pile of shit mere inches from his face, he elbowed Mustang. “Are you okay?”

“I think so, yes.” Mustang rolled over and picked a stray piece of grass out of his mouth. “You?”

“Pretty sure I’ve sacrificed my ability to have children, but other than that, I’m good.”

His balls really did hurt like a son of a bitch. At least it wasn’t a direct hit, otherwise he’d be having lamb chops for dinner. Not really because every kid in Resembool adored this fucking sheep, but it was nice to dream.

They laid there until the crowd wandered off to other activities. When it was just the two of them, Mustang propped himself up on his elbows. “Should we…?” He gestured towards the rest of the festival.

“Yeah.” Ed rolled to his feet, picked up the discarded shears, and clicked them threateningly. Across the pen, the sheep let out a warning bleat. “Just let me finish shearing this bastard first.”

The sheep must have sensed Ed’s potentially murderous thoughts because the last of the wool came off without a struggle from either party. Mustang tossed it onto the pile of others in a nearby cart while Ed turned the sheep out into the pasture, then they were hobbling their way through the gate.

“We’re a sad fucking sight,” Ed said.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen. The glory days are well and truly gone.”

Snorting, Ed jerked his head towards the line of food stands. “Come on, Flame Alchemist. Food always makes things better.”

They stopped twice on the way – once to listen to some live musicians, the other to watch a group of children riding sheep in a miniature race – before perusing the food choices. Ed ended up insisting on ice cream because it was a staple, then spent the next ten minutes second guessing every decision he’d ever made when the girl working the stand flirted shamelessly with Mustang the entire time. It was disgusting, really. He could practically smell the pheromones. But Mustang only laughed when Ed snatched both the ice cream and the back of his collar and dragged him off to the sheep dog trials on the opposite end of the festival grounds.

“So,” Ed said after the fifth dog successfully herded the sheep into the final paddock. “How are things in East City? Did you ever root out that group you were after?”

“We did. Hopefully they’re the last. It’s hard to believe we’re still dealing with sympathizers to Bradley’s stance on war, but change takes time, and even then…”

Ed hummed in agreement. Peace was never permanent. “And Ishval?”

“Improving,” Mustang said, visibly happier at a more positive topic. “We’ve begun rebuilding. The State recently deployed several alchemists to speed things along. I’m hoping their involvement will help smooth over any lingering bad blood from the war.”

“Good. I know you were leaning hard on the Führer for that.”

“Having Major Miles and Scar on our side doesn’t hurt either. They’ve been fundamental in getting the other Ishvalans to come around.”

Ed peeked at Mustang out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve done your fair share too.”

Bracing one shoulder against the stands that had been set up for spectators, Mustang lifted the other to shrug off the praise. There was a barely-there smirk playing at his mouth that contradicted the show of humility, though. “The only downside is that things really have gotten busy.”

“That’s not a downside, that’s normal. You’re so used to pawning everything off, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to put in a day’s work,” Ed joked. “This is good for you. It’s about time you earned your keep.”

“You sound so much like the lieutenant it’s unnerving. You even conscript me for things the same way. She likes to do that anytime I’m gone longer than fifteen seconds. God only knows what I’m going to return to.”

Mustang’s tone was light, but something in Ed’s chest squeezed. “You didn’t have to come. I mean, if it was going to cause problems. It’s just a Sheep Festival.”

That earned him a surprised look. “You invited me,” Mustang said as if that explained everything.

“Okay, but that didn’t mean you actually had to _come_. You’re busy making this country a better place. I’m just…” Ed waved his hand indistinctly.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Ed.” It took a second for Mustang to pinpoint the reason for Ed’s sharp look. When he did, he rolled his eyes as if to say _oh, please_ and continued. “You think that elderly couple cared about the rest of Amestris when their house was flooding? How about that single mother when she ran out of firewood last winter?”

“That’s not the same.”

“Of course it is,” Mustang insisted. “You saved their lives.”

Ed crossed his arms and looked the other way. “If I knew you were going to use that shit against me, I wouldn’t have told you about it.” There was a huge difference between impacting one life and shaping the future of millions. They weren’t even on the same scale.

“I’m glad you did. Anyway, all I’m trying to say is that the big picture is made up of the small ones. We’re all doing our part in our own way. Everything matters. As for me visiting…” Ed could virtually hear the smirk creep back into Mustang’s voice. “Fresh air does a person good.”

“Yes, because there’s nothing more relaxing than the smell of sheep shit and four hundred sweaty people.”

“The company’s not bad either.”

“You’re so fucking full of it, Mustang.”

A couple kids ran by holding sparklers. Ed squinted out into the last dregs of sunlight streaking up from behind the horizon to highlight the clouds. He hadn’t even realized how late it was getting. How long had they been standing beneath the tree? It wasn’t too late, though. If Mustang was going to shirk off his duties to come all the way out here, Ed had every intention of making it worth his while.

“Come on,” Ed said, crossing in front of Mustang and motioning for him to follow. “The fireworks will be starting soon, and I guarantee a city boy like you has never seen anything like what we have out here in the sticks.”

Mustang fell into step beside him. “You were there when Grumman was named Führer.”

“Yeah, those were nice, but everything in Central gets washed out. Light pollution and all that. Just wait, you’ll see what I mean.”

Most of the people had gathered along the low fence bordering a large, open field for convenience’s sake, but Ed knew the best view was from the top of a neighboring hill, you just had to be willing to hoof it. They passed Al and Winry on the way. She was perched on the top beam of the fence while Al stood behind her, elbows braced on either side of her legs, chin propped on her shoulder. Both wore soft smiles, and Ed had to fight back one of his own.

This was the kind of thing he’d wanted, the kind of life he’d fought tooth and nail for them to have. To see the people he loved like that – at peace, content – justified every painful step of the journey. He was happy for Al. For both of them. They deserved this.

“I don’t think you chose a big enough hill,” Mustang panted once they reached the top.

“Exercise is good. Can’t have that desk job make you soft.”

Mustang had a point, though. They did kind of tower above the rest of the festival. And Ed honestly wasn’t handling the climb much better. It was only pride that kept him from bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He didn’t remember the trek being that extreme as a kid.

In an effort to hide his own exhaustion, Ed plopped down off the edge of the hill’s slope and laid back in the grass. The angle provided a clear view of the sky. No fields or trees or civilization, just the endless arc of night. Stars winked from the darkness, and the waning crescent moon hung overhead, arctic silver amidst black velvet. 

Without warning, Mustang’s face appeared. “I assume this is intentional.”

“Best seat in Resembool,” Ed said, tucking his hands beneath his head. “Unless you’re too high and mighty to get your ass dirty two times in one day. I have a hard time imagining it landing anywhere other than fancy, cushioned seats these days.”

“Spend a lot of time thinking about my ass, do you?”

Ed choked on air. “Only how _lazy_ it is. You say you’re busy, but I bet you still sneak into supply closets to take naps. Or play with Black Hayate to procrastinate on paperwork. I’m going to ask Breda next time I write. He’ll tell me the truth. There are some habits you’ll probably never shake.”

“I stand corrected,” Mustang said, one brow lifting as he flashed a smirk. “It sounds like you spend a lot of time thinking about me in general.”

“Fucking—” Ed arched back, grabbed one of Mustang’s ankles before he could skip out of reach, and jerked it hard enough to make him wobble. “If I was going to think about you in any context – and that’s a big fucking _if_, you bastard, because I _don’t_ – it would only be how god damn annoying you are. Now would you shut up and sit the fuck down?”

“Gladly.”

Folding his hands over his stomach, Ed pointedly ignored Mustang’s chuckle as he settled on the ground. He’d forgotten how smug and obnoxious Mustang could be. At least their letters tempered some of that. It was hard to convey the same level of smarmy arrogance via ink, but in person… and now he was laying down close enough for them to bump elbows, despite there being a whole fucking hillside to sprawl out on. Fucking hell, why did Ed invite him to this stupid festival in the first place?

The problem was that he already knew.

It was easy to chalk it up to boredom or courtesy or even equivalent exchange, but at the end of the day, it all boiled down to the simple fact that Ed… missed it.

He missed the banter and the ribbing. He missed going against orders just to be ornery, arguing the finer details of his mission reports, and throwing elbows in front of the coffee machine for that first precious cup when they had to report in at the ass-crack of dawn. He missed their talks on alchemic theory. He missed their talks about nothing at all, the ones that rambled on and on without purpose.

He missed Mustang.

And truth be told, Ed probably did spend more time thinking about him than he realized.

When he’d met Mustang at the train station that morning, it hadn’t felt like six months since they’d last seen each other. Every detail was exactly as he remembered. The coy little smirk, the timbre of his voice, those sharp eyes; the fall of his hair, artfully messy, and the way he carried himself. And fine, even his ass because civilian clothes didn’t hide things nearly as well as military uniforms. Not that he’d been actively looking or anything.

The point was, those weren’t things a person just _remembered_. Those were the details that had been etched into the back of Ed’s mind through hours upon hours of contemplation, willfully or not, which was kind of a scary thought all in itself. But also the slightest bit exciting. Baffling, too, when he considered the fact that whole awareness had more or less… snuck up on him.

When did things get so fucking complicated?

“So,” Mustang said, interrupting Ed’s train of thought and dragging him back to the here and now. “Should I be looking anywhere in particular? Are they going to be set off from—”

A firework exploded above them right on cue.

Ed felt Mustang jump beside him at the thundering boom, then red and gold sparks filled the sky in a dazzling display. They crackled and fizzed and trailed down in glittering streams before another – this time a pair; one blue, one green – lit up the sky. Up on the hill, the fireworks were all they could see. They looked close enough to touch.

“Holy shit,” Mustang breathed into the deafening silence between bursts. “This is…”

Ed huffed a laugh. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t often he got to hear Mustang swear. He was always too reserved for that, too concerned with keeping everything under control. But he’d done so twice tonight, the latter an unconscious slip if the awestruck expression on his face was anything to go by. Ed liked it. He liked knowing Mustang was comfortable enough to let down his walls.

The fireworks continued on for a long time. Some twinkled, some crackled. Some marked their ascent with a comet-like tail. Some exploded only for the sparks to dart around in different directions, while others exploded, then exploded again. It was an impressive show. Always had been. But Ed stopped paying attention halfway through in favor of letting his head fall to the side.

He took in the sight… the rainbow of lights playing across Mustang’s face, the way his breath would hitch every time a new firework went off, the easy curl of his smile. It was captivating. Magnetic. At one point, Mustang’s mouth began to move, but the words wouldn’t filter through the static buzz in Ed’s brain.

What was this?

What was going on?

But then Mustang was looking at him in return, and everything went pleasantly blank.

Whatever he’d been saying must not have been too important because he didn’t repeat it. They just stared silently at one another as the fireworks continued overhead. Mustang’s gaze flitted over his face, then he slowly lifted one hand to brush away the wisps of hair that had come loose from Ed’s ponytail to drape over his forehead.

Ed blinked. Swallowed. Tried to remember how to breathe as those fingers ghosted feather-light over his temple, around the shell of his ear, and down his neck before falling away. Mustang offered a cautious smile, there and gone again in its instantaneousness, and Ed just… watched the sparks reflect in those deep, dark, bottomless eyes long after Mustang had turned back to the fireworks.


	5. Chapter 5

30 April 1917

“Be sure to give Pinako my thanks again for the meal.”

Ed groaned and kicked a rock, sending it skipping down the road in front of them. The abrupt motion made the unlit lantern he was holding clink against his automail leg. “Seriously? You already thanked her twenty-nine times before we left.”

“Might as well make it an even thirty,” Mustang said. “One can never be too polite.”

“Actually, one can, and I should know, because you are. It’s disgusting. Stop it.” They came up on the rock, and Ed kicked it again. This time it flew to the left, disappearing into a clump of grass that had wormed its way through the rock wall lining the path to town. “You don’t have to suck up to Granny anyway. She already likes you.”

Pretty much everyone did, but that was beside the point. Saying it would only give Mustang an even bigger head than he already had. The last thing he needed was encouragement. Ed could hear the underlying satisfaction in his voice as it was.

“I’ve always been under the impression she despised state alchemists.”

“She does. But she also likes anyone who gives me shit, so yeah.” Ed shot Mustang a pointed glare from the corner of his eye. He still wasn’t over how often the dinner conversation had shifted to tales of his less-than-stellar missions. “It all balances out in the end.”

With a conspiratorial smirk, Mustang rubbed at his chin. “That’s good to—”

“No,” Ed cut in. “No, no, no. That is _not_ an invitation to show up whenever you want and drag me just to get in good with the Rockbells.”

“Okay, no ingratiating harassment. But does that mean I _can_ show up whenever I want?”

“Don’t you already?”

After last year’s sheep festival, their letters had gradually given way to actual visits. Most were under the pretense of work – Mustang keeping a careful eye on the state of things in the East; Ed picking up supplies that were only readily available in East City – but the fact remained that they were becoming downright common. What were they at now? Recently, four visits in as many months? Every other month before that? That was a bit more than common.

“Fair enough. Although, that makes it sound as if you don’t like it,” Mustang said, laying a hand over his heart as if Ed had physically wounded him. “What was it you said in your last letter? _Please come visit, it’s been too long; we’ll put together our best meal next time you’re here to celebrate; until then, I’ll be waiting with bated breath._”

Ed full-on turned at that, almost tripping in a pothole in the process. “Celebrate? Waiting with— what the fuck, Mustang? Pretty sure my exact words were _Granny’s stew is the best; she might make some next time you’re out this way but don’t hold your breath_, not… whatever the hell that was.”

“It’s called reading between the lines.”

“It’s called bullshit,” Ed shot back in a strange combination of disgust, embarrassment, and exasperated amusement. “A great, big, heaping load of it. How do you even say that with a straight face?”

The corner of Mustang’s mouth quirked. “Years of experience. That’s politics for you.”

“Then it’s a good thing I got out of the military when I did. Let’s just hope I don’t run into any of that out there.” Ed waved the arm holding the lantern in a general westerly direction. “I don’t think I can handle more than one person running around spewing flowery shit and oozing niceness and overthrowing governments.”

“You think I’m nice?”

“Damn it, that’s not what—”

Mustang’s easy, rolling laugh drowned out the rest of Ed’s denial. “Don’t worry, Ed,” he said. “I highly doubt you’ll happen across anyone who even comes close. There’s only one Roy Mustang.”

A large cart hauling hay rounded the corner in front of them. Ed caught Mustang’s sleeve and pulled him to the left, then used his shoulder as leverage to hop onto the rock wall. It had been a long time since he’d walked along the top. Probably not since he was a kid. Before… well, everything.

They both nodded a greeting to the farmer, but Mustang waited until he’d trundled past before glancing briefly at Ed. “So what made you decide to go west? I don’t think you ever told me.”

“Mostly because Al called dibs on Xing.” Ed wouldn’t even call it a debate. The discussion was over as soon as Al started talking about alkahestry with that gleam in his eyes. “But also to see what they might know of alchemy. Amestris is on pretty good terms with everyone right now, so it seems as good a time as any to brave the unknown.”

“The unknown can be dangerous,” Mustang said. “Creta’s internal affairs are still rocky, at best. There’s a lot of conflict between the tribes.”

“Dangerous, huh?” Ed flashed a wide, mischievous grin. “Sounds exciting. I was starting to miss that rush you get from being in mortal peril.”

“Yes, I forgot how much of an adrenaline junkie you are.”

Ed snorted. “Give me some credit. It’s been, what, two years since I’ve been under your command? Little less? I’m different now. There’s no guarantee I’m going to get in trouble.” Mustang shot him a deadpan look, but there was something behind the skepticism that made Ed pause. “Wait, are you…? You are. You really are worried.”

Turning his attention back to the road, Mustang squinted against the light from the setting sun. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, I guess not, but…”

The rational part of Ed knew Mustang cared. He always had, even when it seemed like he hadn’t. He’d always been concerned with the wellbeing of his team, the people of Amestris, the country as a whole. And Ed. But that was where the irrational side reared to life because Ed had never quite come to terms with the idea that he was included in that list. He’d caused so much fucking trouble over the years, it only made sense for people to keep him at arm’s length.

Mustang hadn’t done that, though.

He’d never looked down on Ed for his mistakes or failings, never judged him for the choices he’d made. Instead, he’d protected him. Helped him. Encouraged him. And now – when he was no longer obligated as a superior officer; when there was no overarching reason to keep them tethered to each other anymore – he insisted on writing and calling to check in and coming out to the bum-fuck middle of nowhere to visit just _because_ and—

Was it Ed’s imagination or was Mustang walking a little faster now?

They topped a hill, and the cluster of businesses that formed the heart of Resembool unfurled before them. The depot was closest, although the last train of the day hadn’t arrived yet. Plenty of people were still milling around. Good. That meant Ed still had time to jump off the wall, jog a few steps to catch up to Mustang, and grab the crook of his elbow before they made it too far onto the platform.

“What?” Ed demanded.

Mustang’s momentary surprise morphed into confusion, brows pinching. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you’re _not _saying something extremely loudly.”

“That is both contradictory and exaggerated. I’m not—”

“Don’t bullshit me, Mustang,” Ed said, fingers tightening around his arm. “Not now.” _Not after everything we’ve been through._

For someone with so much fucking control and so many fucking layers, Mustang wasn’t doing a very good job at masking the fact that something was on his mind. Up close, Ed could see the line of tension running along his shoulders and the too-tight set of his mouth. They were little tells he’d been noticing more and more lately. Whether it was because he’d learned to see through the fronts and brave faces or if it was another way of Mustang letting down his walls, lowering the cards he’d always held so close to his chest and accepting whatever collateral damage that might result by extension, though, he couldn’t say.

Regardless, a sense of resignation settled over Mustang’s features as he heaved a sigh and fully turned, causing Ed's hand to fall back to his side.

“Very well,” Mustang said slowly, carefully, weighing every word. “The purpose of my visit today might not have been as… honest… as it seemed. Of course I wanted to wish you well before you left, but… I was also planning to offer you a job.”

Ed blinked. “A job?”

“Yes. Falman has decided to return to Briggs, which leaves me short one man. I was going to ask you to come back as part of my team. I was hoping it might…" Mustang trailed off and shook his head. "But then you and Al started describing your plans. When I saw how excited you were, I couldn’t possibly take that away from you.”

Ed blinked again.

Talk about fuck-all timing.

A few months ago, he would’ve considered the offer. Probably accepted it. Life had slowed down long enough for him to feel that itch again, the need to move, explore, learn. Al must have felt it too, seeing how he was the one to bring up the whole travel idea to start with. They’d needed time, and they’d got it, but in the end, it was hard to remain still after so many years of being on the go.

So yeah, the timing was shit considering everything else was already in full motion.

That wasn’t the point his mind kept snagging on, though.

“I wasn’t enough of a headache the first go round? You want to relive it again,” Ed joked weakly. It felt like he was stranded on ice, struggling to find traction. “Without alchemy, my skill set is basically limited to fucking shit up.”

“I’ll admit you made for an impressive amount of paperwork, but there’s more to you than your alchemic talents. Then and now. You were always more than just the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

“But you could choose anyone. Literally anyone.” People would fall over themselves for a chance to be part of Mustang’s inner circle, and it wasn’t like there would be a shortage of options, each one of them better qualified than Ed, which begged the question: “What the hell do you need me for?”

Mustang cocked his head as if considering how to proceed. Then he inhaled a deep breath, and a small, almost rueful smile curled the corners of his lips. “Need? This hasn't been about need for some time now.”

Ed… stopped. Breathing, thinking. Just stared at Mustang as the full implication filtered through the haze and reality opened up before him, bringing everything into blinding, startling clarity. If it wasn’t need, it was want, and if it was want, it went above duty, and if went above duty, it was personal. It was _real_.

How had he not fucking seen it? Or maybe he’d just been too afraid to acknowledge it, because it had been there all along, hadn’t it? A thousand and one infinitesimal moments gathered and shaped into something infinitely larger and fundamentally important. And fuck if that wasn’t a terrifying thing, to fall so gradually he hadn’t even felt it.

It was all there now, though, everything laid out unmistakably and irrefutably clear. It was like being at the Gate again. He’d seen the truth, and there was no going back.

“I’m not trying to persuade you,” Mustang said, interrupting the revelation currently rattling the foundations of Ed’s very existence. “It was selfish of me to even bring it up.”

“You…” Ed took a deep breath and forced his thoughts into some semblance of order. “You didn’t. I asked.”

“Still.”

A piercing wail sounded above the otherwise quiet evening, making them both jump. Over Mustang’s shoulder, Ed caught the first glimpse of black smoke puffing into the sky, quickly followed by the glare of dark, industrial steel in the fading sunlight as the train emerged from the foothills.

Swallowing, his eyes slid back to Mustang. “Why does this feel like you’re making the decision for me?”

“Because I am,” Mustang said. “Go west. I want you to. Consider this a formal retraction of my job offer.”

“You can’t take back something you never technically offered to begin with.”

“I believe I just did.”

Ed scowled, shoving his free hand through his bangs. “And if I decided to give you the finger and accept the job anyway?”

“As your reinstated commanding officer, I’d order you to travel west to see what all Creta has to offer on the subject of alchemy,” Mustang said with an infuriatingly smug grin.

Typical fucking Mustang. Ed blew out a frustrated breath that was more for show than anything. “You’re just as much of a bastard as you ever were.”

“You’d be disappointed if I were anything less.”

The train rolled into the station before Ed could respond. With a rush of steam, it came to a stop, and the conductor stepped out of the first car to call a fifteen minute warning. It felt strange, hearing that. Fifteen minutes. That was all the time he and Mustang had left for fuck knew how long. They hadn’t even gotten to the crux of the issue, just danced around it. It felt wrong to leave things like that, so open-ended, but Mustang clearly wasn’t going to give Ed the chance to press the topic. Not this one. The only concession he allowed was a melancholic edge to his smile.

“I suppose this is goodbye, Edward.”

“Yeah,” Ed said, voice faint and raspy. He cleared his throat, fighting the urge to fidget. “You should get going if you don’t want to get stuck sitting beside screaming, overtired kids. I know from experience.”

Of course Mustang would’ve known that too, as many trips as he’d made over the past couple years, but he only hummed in agreement and began digging in his pocket. “Would you like some help with that before I do?”

Ed followed Mustang’s eyes to the lantern bumping gently against his leg. He’d planned to bum a match off someone in town so he wouldn’t have to walk home in the dark, but if Mustang wanted to save him the trouble, he wasn’t going to complain.

“If you feel like showing off for the locals,” Ed said, lifting the lantern. “Knock yourself out.”

Mustang withdrew one of his ignition gloves and slipped it on. The spark he snapped into existence followed the enhanced stream of oxygen, zigzagging in a narrow line of fire towards the oil. At the same time, a shiver skittered its way down Ed’s spine at the resulting sensation. It wasn’t as overwhelming as it had once been, but he still wasn’t exposed to alchemy enough to develop a resistance.

The oil caught.

The lantern flared to life.

This time, though, the electric currents in the air didn’t immediately disappear.

Ed glanced up to Mustang. His hand was still raised, and a small flame flickered above his fingers. It was no bigger than a lighter, but the continual flow required to maintain it meant the alchemic energy hadn’t faded either. It wound around them in slow, easy spirals, smoothing along Ed’s nerves. He looked from Mustang to the flame and back again. He knew an offer when he saw one.

Closing the distance between them, Ed reached out and curled his fingers lightly around Mustang’s wrist. Goosebumps instantly lifted the hair on the back of his neck, and he suffered another shiver, this one full-body, wrenching the air from his lungs. Fuck, that would never get old. He held onto Mustang’s wrist and watched the flame flicker in his dark eyes long enough for the rush to ease into a comfortable, familiar warmth. Long enough for a different kind of heat to stir to life, one that had nothing to do with fire or alchemy and a hell of a lot to do with the man standing before him.

Long enough for the conductor to issue a last call for boarding.

The energy winked out with the flame, but Ed didn’t let go. Neither did Mustang try to pull away. Instead, he lifted his other hand and caught the end of Ed’s ponytail draping over his shoulder, fingered the strands for a moment before releasing them to trace the outline of the scar just visible along the collar of his shirt. Ed’s heart ricocheted around in his chest. Beneath his fingertips, Mustang’s pulse was quick and light.

“Stay safe,” Mustang whispered.

Ed’s mouth twitched with a weak attempt at a smile. “Try not to ruin the country while I'm not here to keep you in line." It was easier than saying any of the other words lurking in the back of his throat.

The train's whistle blew as it belched up a plume of smoke, and Ed finally released Mustang who walked backwards a couple steps before turning to jog the rest of the way to the now-creeping train. A couple faces were plastered to the windows, watching their exchange. Who knew what they thought of it. Ed didn’t even know what to think of it.

“Hey, Mustang,” Ed yelled once he was aboard the train, standing in one of the open doorways. The soft light highlighted Mustang in a way that made something profound turn over in Ed's chest. On second thought, maybe he did know what to think of this evening. “I will be back. You can't get rid of me that easily. So don’t fill that spot on your team just yet, okay?”

It was a promise.

The only one he could give.

Beneath the burgeoning glow of dusk, Mustang smirked and issued a salute. “I’ll be waiting.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who made it this far <3 I only just watched FMA for the first time a couple months ago, so this has been a fun jump into a new fandom. Everyone has been super welcoming. Needless to say, I'm pretty invested, so expect more fics in the future!
> 
> A final huge thanks to [SJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/attraversiamo19/pseuds/attraversiamo19) for betaing this monster! You're such a rock star, and I've had a blast freaking out with you <3

21 December 1918

The front door blew open with a bang, letting in a gust of brisk, wintery air, and two new voices raised the din of noise in the room a few levels. Judging by the woman’s persistent high-pitched giggle and the trouble the man had wrestling the door shut again, they were already drunk. After this pit stop, they’d be well on their way to trashed. Luckily enough, they weren’t likely to get slapped with a fine for public intoxication, despite the high number of State officials in the bar. Everyone was too busy celebrating the recent round of promotions to care. If there was a night to test the limits of the law, this was it.

The couple staggered and swerved their way across the room, bumping into more than one chair along the way. One of them even elbowed the back of Ed’s head, but he ignored them in favor of setting down his half-empty beer, folding an arm on the table, and leaning forward to look Havoc directly in the eye.

“You’re telling me your date was a renowned thief?”

“Top of the most wanted list in no less than seven different cities.” Shuffling the cigarette to the other side of his mouth, Havoc grinned and shrugged. “What can I say, I know how to pick ‘em.”

Ed blinked slowly. “Something like that.”

“It all worked out, though. I got hit by a car while I was chasing after her, and the driver turned out to be the smokin’ hot babe you met earlier. She agreed to go with me to the play as an apology. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“If by history you mean two weeks,” Breda mumbled into his beer just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Havoc shot him a narrow glare. “It’s been two and a half, thank you very much.”

“That’s right, how could I forget? Eighteen miserable days of listening to you go on about her long, flowing hair.”

“And her laugh,” Fuery said.

“Her legs,” Falman chimed in.

“Don’t forget the way her eyes sparkle in the morning,” Hawkeye added in an uncharacteristically playful tone. “Or how she’s apparently an amazing cook who knows how to make all your favorite meals.”

“Best of all is the way she…”

Ed picked up his beer again and leaned back in the chair, watching his old team gang up on Havoc. How long had it been since he’d seen them? Two years since the last time he'd been in East City? Fuck. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the camaraderie, the easy way they all interacted.

“_Anyway_,” Havoc growled over all of them, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the glasses. “The point is that I scored a date for the play, so I won the bet. That she stuck around for seconds is just icing on the cake.”

“What were the stakes?” Ed asked. He hoped it was worth having your wallet stolen and getting hit by a car.

“What were the stakes, you ask.” Havoc’s irritation gave way to a wicked grin. He fished something out of his uniform jacket and flung it down in the center of the table. “Feast your eyes.”

It was a good thing Ed didn’t have a mouthful of beer, otherwise someone would’ve been sprayed. As it was, he almost dropped the glass as he lunged forward. “Holy shit, is that…?”

The question was pointless, though, because it was.

It was a picture.

Of Mustang.

With a _mustache_.

Ed’s cackling laugh cut off when the picture was abruptly snatched away. He spun around to where Mustang was sitting beside him, looking distinctly unamused as he held the picture out of reach. However, Hawkeye rescued it before he could destroy the evidence and calmly passed the picture back to Havoc.

“Exactly how long are you planning to keep that, Havoc?” Mustang demanded.

“As long as it’s funny, boss.”

Mustang glared at Havoc for a moment, then sat back and crossed one ankle over his leg. The movement left his knee pressing against Ed’s thigh, crammed together as they were around the small table. It took more effort than Ed cared to admit to drag his eyes away from that sole point of contact.

“The agreement was that, if the General lost, he had to grow out a mustache and keep it through all the peace negotiations with Drachma,” Fuery explained.

“You’ve been up north, Ed. You saw all those burly guys with their thick beards. They’re like grizzly bears walking around.” Havoc held up the picture between two fingers. “Imagine their faces when the infamous Flame Alchemist walked in with this scraggly thing.”

Soldiers in the north had always had somewhat of a… reputation. Their involvement in the coup had only exacerbated it. Seeing how Havoc had been sidelined for most of that, he really couldn’t be blamed for feeding into the rumors, but that didn’t make it any less amusing. Even Falman appeared to be holding back a laugh.

Northern men were a different breed for sure, but they weren’t all bearded monstrosities.

Although, that wasn’t to say Mustang’s pathetic excuse for a mustache hadn’t stuck out like a sore thumb.

Ed motioned for Havoc to hand over the picture again. It was hard to get the full effect since it was only of Mustang’s profile, but the suggestion was enough. He must have looked so fucking ridiculous.

“I need a copy of this,” Ed said.

Immediately, Mustang began shaking his head. “No. Absolutely not. There will be no copies made or distr—”

“Go ahead and keep that one,” Havoc interrupted, dipping his chin towards the picture. “I have ten more at home. Oh and Breda, I stuck yours in the mail.”

Breda frowned over the top of his glass. “I thought you said it was at the office.”

“That was Fuery’s.”

“Actually, I gave that one to Falman as something to remember us by when he returns to Briggs,” Fuery said. Across the table, Falman patted the breast pocket of his jacket. “I’ll need another, if you don’t mind.”

Winking, Havoc snuffed out the butt of his cigarette. “You got it. I’ll bring one in Monday morning.”

Ed glanced over as he knocked back what was left of his beer. Mustang was staring pointedly out into the bar, arms crossed over his chest and chin lifted as if he was above them. It was all an act, though. If the team’s antics reminded Ed of Hughes, it was safe to say it did the same to Mustang, which meant nine times out of ten he only pretended to be annoyed. Odds were everyone at the table knew that, but Hawkeye was the only one to offer Mustang a gracious out.

“It’s getting late,” she said, making a show of checking her watch. “We should probably head out.”

There was a collective groan from the guys, but Ed took pity on Mustang. If it knocked a bit off the debt he’d tallied up over the years, well, that was good too. “Yeah, I still need to find a hotel. Not exactly great weather for roughing it on the streets.”

“There’s one near my place.” Mustang stood and shrugged into his coat. He also plucked Ed’s off the chair and held it out before he could grab it himself. “It’s not far. I can show you.”

“Sure,” Ed said, trying and failing to ignore the brush of fingers against the back of his neck when Mustang pulled his ponytail from beneath the jacket. “Maybe you can you use your fancy new rank to get me a discount while you’re at it.”

There was a brief scuffle where Breda kept blocking Mustang’s attempt to pay for his share of the drinks so Falman could cover it instead, then everyone was maneuvering through the crowd and out of the bar. By the time they’d finished with the _congratulations again, sir_s for Mustang, the _good to have you back_s for Ed, and something that might have qualified as a hug from Hawkeye for both of them, Ed’s chest was uncomfortably tight.

He glanced back over his shoulder as Mustang led the way down the sidewalk. Havoc and Breda were arguing over who got to sit in the front seat, neither of them realizing Fuery had already snuck past them to claim it for himself. Behind the wheel, Hawkeye waited patiently. In the backseat, it looked like Falman was already asleep.

Idiots, every last one of them.

Ed really had missed it.

“What are you even going to do with that picture?” Mustang asked, drawing his attention.

“I don’t know. Frame it and hang it on the wall once I find a place, maybe. That way I can look at it whenever I need a good laugh.” Ed tucked the picture safely into one of the pockets of his knapsack. “I still can’t believe you took that bet.”

“In my defense, I should have won. Havoc’s record speaks for itself.”

“Just admit it,” Ed said with a grin. “You got cocky like always, only this time it backfired. Now we all get to enjoy the immortalization of the one thing you’re not good at.”

Even in the swath of darkness between street lights, Ed could see Mustang’s quirked brow. “It’s not that I couldn’t. I was trying for something dignified."

"_Dignified_?"

"Yes," Mustang continued before Ed could latch onto that comment. "Bigger isn’t always better.”

“But it does make a point. That’s why they gave you this new hat, right? To prove a point.” Ed popped up onto his toes, swiped the hat off Mustang’s head, and placed it on his own. 

“It’s standard issue, Ed. You would know if you’d ever bothered to wear your uniform.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed said, waving away the lecture he knew by heart. “Seriously, though, is this gonna be an everyday thing? Just wondering if I should start working on my jokes now or if I have time to come up with something really good before you whip this baby out again. I would’ve been ready today if I knew you were going to be decked out like this. Probably something involving peacocks and strutting and— what are you laughing at?”

Mustang was chuckling under his breath. “Sorry, it’s just hard to believe I could ever forget how vibrant you are. A year and a half is too long.” Reaching out, he flicked the brim of the hat. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“No time. Creta doesn’t exactly allow prisoners idle chitchat on their one phone call.” Ed shoved his hands in his pockets and side-eyed Mustang. “Thanks for that, by the way. You really saved my ass.”

“I was happy to help. Although, to be honest, I’d been expecting it.”

“Not this again,” Ed groaned.

“I’ll be happy to verify your citizenship any time you—”

“Don’t you fucking say it.”

“—get into trouble.”

“Damn it, Mustang, I was not in trouble! It was just a misunderstanding.” Rolling his eyes, Ed huffed at Mustang’s knowing hum. Smug bastard. “But yeah, I didn’t get a chance. Also, I didn’t want to… you know, get your hopes up or anything. In case I didn’t make it. To the ceremony.”

It was a good thing they’d been walking into the wind. The icy edge of it had been stinging Ed’s face ever since they left the bar. Hopefully the wind-burn hid the warm flush working its way up his neck. He was so caught up in his thoughts that it took a few steps before he realized he was alone. Stopping, he turned to find Mustang a ways back, regarding him with a barely-there smile.

“Thank you for coming,” Mustang said. “It was a surprise, to say the least. A welcome one.”

Ed didn’t think he’d ever forget that moment Mustang finally spotted him after the ceremony. The complete and utter shock, the soft expression that followed, the way he’d instantly excused himself from the group of people surrounding him to come over. Even the weight of his hands when he’d clasped Ed’s shoulders had felt significant.

Clearing his throat, Ed attempted a casual shrug. “I just wanted to see how far Amestris’ standards had fallen. Seems they’ll promote anyone nowadays.”

“Truly scraping the bottom of the barrel.” Mustang’s smirk slipped away as he glanced first to the line of townhouses to their right, then a nondescript hotel across the street that Ed hadn’t even noticed. “I know it’s late and you’re probably tired from travelling, but you’re welcome to come up for another drink if you’d like. Or coffee. I know how much you like caffeine.”

Speaking of significant.

But the lazy, contented buzz Ed always found just this side of drunk was starting to wear off. He wouldn’t mind stretching out that feeling a little longer.

And it really wasn’t _that_ late. Eleven thirty? Maybe midnight?

And sure, he was a little worn out from skating into East City on a delayed train at the last minute, paying a driver twice the usual fee to get him to Eastern Command in half the time, and bullshitting his way past security so he could sit in a section with a better view of the stage even though it was designated For Military Personnel Only, but it wasn’t like he planned to go upstairs and pass out immediately.

And… well… fuck, there was no point in making excuses or lying to himself.

He wanted to spend more time with Mustang.

“Alright,” Ed said, adjusting the strap of his knapsack. “I guess I could go for one more drink.”

Ed trailed Mustang up the steps to one of the townhouses, went inside when Mustang held out an arm indicating he go first, then stood in the small entryway, frozen. A staircase leading to the second floor extended in front of him. To his left was an open living room, dining room, and kitchen. Ambient light from a pair of lamps at either end of the couch shed soft light on most of the space.

It was strange, seeing the inside of Mustang’s house. Ed never would’ve imagined being comfortable enough to set foot in it. Hell, there was a time he never would’ve imagined spending so much as five seconds in Mustang’s company without wanting to punch his lights out. But here they were. They’d both been given a glimpse into each other’s lives. Ed would call it equivalence if it didn’t feel more like… crossing a line. One step closer, another wall torn down.

Things were so different.

_They_ were different.

Ed dropped his knapsack by the door. Before he could pull off his coat, Mustang was taking it much like he’d offered in the bar, with soft touches and an even softer smile. It, along with the hat, joined the others on a coat rack in the corner, then Mustang began making his way towards the kitchen.

“Please,” he called back over his shoulder, “make yourself at home.”

Resisting the urge to follow, Ed meandered into the living room instead. Large, wooden built-ins framed the fireplace set into the far wall. Slipping between the couch and an armchair, he perused the shelves. It wasn’t the most extensive personal library in the world, but that didn’t make it any less impressive. There were several books he’d only come across in the Central Library. There were even more he’d only ever heard of.

Ed paused when he spotted a series of five, untitled, leather-bound books. Naturally, they were on the top fucking shelf, but his curiosity outweighed his pride. He gingerly tested the weight of the lowest shelf before climbing on it to snag the first volume. What he’d hoped to be some rare, arcane alchemic knowledge, though, turned out to be detailed accounts of dozens upon dozens of Mustang’s dates.

Frowning, Ed pulled down the next book. He thumbed through it from beginning to end, but it was all the same. Types of flowers, names of plays, restaurants and food. What the hell? It was a lot, even for Mustang. Ed was so preoccupied that he didn’t realize he had company until Mustang intercepted his bid for the last volume.

“Allow me,” Mustang said, plucking the book from the shelf.

Ed stepped down, took the book, and let it fall open in his hands. More of the same. He eyed the stories, then Mustang. “There’s no way you’ve been on this many dates.”

“Are you doubting my charm?”

“No, just the general population.” Ed flipped through the pages. “There’s not this many women in East City.”

“Don’t forget the times I was stationed in Central,” Mustang pointed out as he shifted to lean back against the built-ins. He continued to hold a pair of lowball glasses in one hand even though his other was free. “Also, I’m sure you noticed that some were repeats.”

Ed hummed. “Like this Sophia girl. She’s in here several times. Tell me, Mustang, is she just your type, or is Sophia another word for oxygen?”

The challenge hung in the air between them for a moment. Mustang was smart, using the womanizing front as a cover for his research, but Ed was smarter, and a triumphant feeling swirled in his chest at cracking even one piece of the code so quickly.

To his credit, Mustang didn’t so much as blink. “You know, most people would simply accept these for what they are.”

“I’m not most people.”

“No, you’re not.” Encouraged, Ed was about to start pairing up the handful of other recurring names with the necessary components when an unsettling smirk eased across Mustang’s face. “Fair warning, though… if you move forward under the assumption that Sophia means oxygen, you’re going to reveal a method that produces a gas cloud instead. It’s not fatal, but it does create a nasty burn of its own.”

A double encryption.

One complicated enough that following the wrong trail led to a functional alchemic theory, just not the desired one. That the result was its own form of poetic justice made it all the better.

Mustang really was craftier than he let on.

“Oxygen is too predictable for anyone who understands the basics of flame alchemy. I couldn’t be so obvious as that,” Mustang explained. Still smiling, he extended the hand with the two glasses. “Would you like to try again?”

Ed huffed a reluctantly admiring laugh, took one of the drinks, and shook his head. “Not tonight. I’m not at the top of my game if I fell for that so easily.”

“It wasn’t easily. Like I said, most people wouldn’t think twice about these having a deeper meaning.”

“Next time, then.” Ed lifted his glass. “When I’ve had less of these.”

Give him unimpeded access and enough time and he’d figure it out, no matter how complicated or obscure the correlations. Not that he necessarily _wanted_ to know the ins and outs of flame alchemy, but solving the puzzle was half the fun.

Mustang tilted his head. “Next time,” he repeated, the playful edge of his smile slipping just a bit. “You also mentioned finding a place earlier. Does that mean you’re finished travelling?”

“For now.” Turning on his heel, Ed made a beeline for one of the armchairs. He'd been wondering when this conversation would come up. “Creta was something else. I’m ready for a break.”

“But you’re not returning to Resembool,” Mustang said, toeing the line between statement and question.

“Nah. Country life is all well and good, but I’ve had about enough sheep as I can stand.” Flopping back into the soft leather, Ed took a sip of what turned out to be smooth honey whiskey. “Plus, Al should be headed back soon. We’re going to compile what we’ve learned, see if we can expand the alchemic knowledge in Amestris.”

“Specifically?”

“Last Al mentioned, he wants to apply alkahestry to what we know of medicine. Find a way to combine them so that doctors who aren’t able to perform alchemy can still use it. He’s always been about helping people and saving lives.”

Mustang arched a brow. “So have you.”

“It’s not the same. Al’s…” Ed swilled his drink, watched the amber liquid move around the ice cubes. “He’s got the biggest heart out of anyone I’ve ever known and even bigger dreams to match it. That kid’s gonna change the fucking world.”

“The Elric brothers are a force to be reckoned with,” Mustang agreed. “Still, it sounds like you’re going to need all the resources you can get your hands on. You’d have wider options in Central.”

“Yeah. There’s just one problem with that.” With a deep, steadying breath, Ed’s gaze flicked up. “I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for the East.”

Ed had never been much for subtlety or flirting, so it only made sense that subtle flirting would be doubly horrendous. He’d tried, though. Effort had to count for something. And if the way Mustang went eerily still across the room, he succeeded. Possibly? Or maybe he was just suffering secondhand embarrassment from how utterly ridiculous Ed sounded but was too nice to let it fully show.

God, what was he fucking thinking? They hadn’t seen each other in over a year. They’d barely even had the chance to _talk_. Ed hadn’t imagined those last moments in Resembool before he’d left, there’d been something between them, but Mustang could have moved on since then. Probably had. Eighteen months was a long fucking time, and just because Ed hadn’t… well, that didn’t mean Mustang shouldn’t have…

And shit, he hadn’t even _asked_ if there was someone else, had he? Just waltzed into Mustang’s house, started rifling through his personal things, and throwing out some piss-poor attempt at flirting. Who cared if Mustang had invited him. That wasn’t the _point_. He was probably just being overly fucking polite like always.

Ed’s free hand clenched in the fabric of his trousers as he weighed the pros and cons of admitting defeat, making a mad dash for the door, and disappearing into the night like the loser he—

“The job’s still open.” The whirlwind of thoughts ground to a halt. Ed blinked and refocused on Mustang who’d pushed away from the built-ins but still stood near them as if unsure whether to bridge the gap between them or not. “It’s yours,” he said again, voice lower than usual in the otherwise silent room. “If you want it.”

Ed swallowed. “You kept it open all this time?”

“I told you I’d be waiting.”

“No wonder it took you so long to make general,” Ed tried to joke around the lump in his throat.

“It was worth picking up the slack.” Mustang drained his glass and set it down on one of the shelves. “I mean it. The position is yours.”

Cocking his head, Ed ran a finger around the rim of his own glass. “I… thought about it,” he managed. “A lot, actually, while I was gone, and… I can’t. Things have changed, but I’m not ready to be back under the State’s thumb again. The freedom… it’s been…” Following Mustang’s lead, Ed threw back the last of his drink also, pulled some measure of strength or confidence or reckless determination from the burn of whiskey down his throat. “And there’s still that stupid fraternization policy in place. It kinda puts a damper on things if there… was ever, you know… somebody.”

“Somebody,” Mustang said slowly, quietly, carefully.

Ed nodded. “Yeah, I’ve never been very good at sneaking around.”

There it was, laid out as plainly as he could manage. Mustang still hadn’t come any closer. Hadn’t moved at all, really. The only motion was that of his throat when he swallowed, but his _eyes_. Fuck, his eyes. They were dark and focused, smoldered with an intensity that would’ve been disconcerting if it weren’t for the bolts of lightning they sent crackling down Ed’s spine.

This wasn’t just significant anymore. Significance had been tossed unceremoniously right out the fucking window. No, this was monumental. This was the point of no return. This was a live wire lighting up Ed’s bone marrow, and he felt like he was going to combust if he didn’t get some kind of god damn relief soon.

“Damn it, Mustang, are you gonna make me fucking spell it out?”

The thread of tension strained and snapped and spiraled out as Mustang closed the distance between them in four measured strides and—

Oh.

_Oh._

Ed blinked. Stared at the sweep of Mustang’s dark lashes against his skin. Felt the warmth of those hands cradling his face, the soft pressure of lips against his own. Heard the rush of blood in his ears as his heart hammered out of control against his sternum. Tasted honey whiskey and pure, unadulterated _want_ on the tongue that swept into his mouth.

This was… nice.

Better than nice.

Better than he ever could’ve imagined, and he’d imagined quite a bit.

“Sorry,” Mustang said, pulling back just enough to murmur against Ed’s lips. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now, but I should have asked before I—”

Ed fisted his hands in Mustang’s jacket and drug him into another kiss. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to pull Mustang down into the chair or using his body as leverage to haul himself upright, but they ended up standing. Then kind of staggering backwards as Ed worked desperately at the fastenings of Mustang’s uniform. Then sitting again, this time with Mustang on the couch.

In an uncharacteristic show of coordination, Ed hiked a knee on either side of Mustang’s legs to straddle him without breaking the kiss. He even managed to undo the last of the buttons and wrench off the jacket, although that just revealed another long line of them down Mustang’s shirtfront. Ed knew persistence, though, and he fell on them with an enthusiasm matched only by the hot press of Mustang’s mouth against his neck.

Goosebumps broke out across Ed’s skin as Mustang worked his way down the column of his throat, and the occasional graze of teeth had something like starbursts flashing across his line of sight. It made it hard to breathe and even harder to focus. Even still, he tilted his head to allow Mustang better access. One particularly hard suck near the juncture of his neck and shoulder, a hairsbreadth away from the scar that had remained hypersensitive after all this time, caused Ed’s hips to hitch involuntarily, and holy fucking shit that was good, the electrifying brush of their dicks against each other, the confirmation that Mustang wanted this just as badly as he did.

The last of the buttons slipped free. Ed shoved the fabric aside and leaned back so he could smooth his hands over Mustang’s torso, take in the ridges of muscle, watch them twitch and jump beneath his fingers as he mapped out the space between each rib. All the while, Mustang’s hands ranged down Ed's back, around his sides, down to compulsively palm his thighs as he rocked forward, and—

Ed was on fire. Scorching. Burning from the inside out. The rush of energy during a transmutation had nothing on this. He wanted so badly he ached. Needed more, more, _more_.

“Wait,” Mustang rasped before Ed could undo his pants. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Ed leveled him with the most disbelieving expression he could muster. “I’m trying to tear your fucking clothes off, Mustang. I’m fucking sitting on your lap. You can feel how hard I am. Exactly what part of this are you questioning?”

“I just want to make sure I’m not… projecting. Or, _ah_—” Mustang threw his head back against the coach and issued a low, rumbling moan when Ed shifted purposefully against him. “Pushing you into doing something too quickly.”

That… reached Ed. Cut straight through the haze to settle warmly in his chest. Blinking, he sat back on Mustang’s thighs and lowered his hands. “You would be a fucking gentleman even while I’m trying to jump your bones.”

“Gentleman, hm? That’s new. Guess I’m not a bastard after all.”

Ed snorted. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

At some point, Mustang had loosened the tie securing Ed’s ponytail. Now, he ran one set of fingers through the strands while the other slipped beneath Ed's shirt to settle on his hip. “Edward,” he said softly but with meaning, the barest hint of a smile playing at his mouth.

It was a gentle reminder that Mustang had no intentions of budging on the matter, and wasn’t that just Ed’s fucking luck, to get involved with someone as stubborn as he was.

Al would call it karma.

Ed just groaned.

He wasn’t good with words at the best of times. Trying to formulate them while one of Mustang’s thumbs was circling his hipbone was a special kind of torture. Thankfully, there was something to be said for just… bowling forward. That was his specialty. That was his fallback when all else failed, and it hadn’t let him down yet.

“What do you want me to say?” Ed demanded. “Yes, I want this. Yes, I want you. Right here, right now, if you don’t fucking mind.” He yanked his shirt over his head to prove the point, trying not to elbow Mustang in the face in the process. “Is that what you need to hear? Are we good?”

“One last question.” Mustang's smirk turned wolfish as he unabashedly eyed Ed’s chest. “I'm fine with the couch, but how do you feel about the bedroom?”

“Even better.”

“In that case, yes, we’re good.”

Ed kissed Mustang soundly, stood, and held out a hand to help him up. “Thank fucking _god_.”

With a breathless little laugh, Mustang led the way to the bedroom and stripped off the rest of Ed’s clothes. Then he stripped down Ed’s defenses, inhibitions, doubts, and fears. Stripped him all the way to bare bones. Until there was nothing but the here and now, just the two of them drawn to one another like planets in orbit, caught in gravity's snare. Until everything burned bright and dark, toes curling, breath catching, pressure mounting.

And somewhere between the whispered endearments, the feeling of Mustang’s sweat-slick skin sliding against his own, and the white-hot blaze of pleasure in the back of his mind, Ed let the last of his reservations go and learned the difference between giving up and giving in.

* * *

Ed could feel the weight of Mustang’s gaze. It wasn’t annoying, per se, but it did detract from the brush of fingers up and down his spine that had been gradually lulling him into a boneless mess. When it became too much, he cracked an eye to find Mustang laying on his side, head propped in one hand, not a scrap of clothing to be seen other than the sheet covering him from the waist down.

It would’ve been a damn fine sight if not for the smug grin on his face.

Well, technically, it was _still_ a damn fine sight, just not one he was prepared to deal with barely fifteen minutes after being well and thoroughly fucked.

Closing his eye again, Ed buried his face in the pillow. “What?”

It probably said something that he could hear the broadening grin before Mustang even spoke. “You called me Roy.”

“What?” Ed asked again, this time in a combination of shock and knee-jerk denial as he lifted his head, both eyes flying open. “No, I didn’t.”

“I’m afraid you did. It was right after I did that thing with my tongue.” Mustang’s fingers made a pointed, lower pass down Ed’s back to tease his ass.

"There was no fucking _thing_ with your _tongue_, you bastard."

There was, though. Fuck, there was, and it had been fantastic. Mustang’s playboy persona might be a smokescreen, but he had to have picked that up somewhere. No one was that good right out of the gate. It had been mind-blowing enough that Ed wouldn’t mind learning it also. That way he could return the favor. But that meant collecting data, which meant more observation, which meant Mustang would just have to do it again. Probably more than once. For research purposes.

“Yes, you called me that too,” Mustang said. “And Mustang. And God a few times, if I remember correctly, although those were more of a moan. You were quite vocal by that point.”

Ed returned to the pillow and pressed his face in hard enough to risk asphyxiation. It was either that or die of embarrassment. He honestly didn’t remember a fraction of the stuff he’d likely babbled. His filter was virtually nonexistent on a normal day. Apparently, it was even less so in the middle of sex. Fucking hell.

“Roy was my favorite, though,” Mustang continued as he tucked a lock of hair behind Ed’s ear, then swept the rest of the loose, tangled mass to one side. “Feel free to say it more often. All the time, in fact. I wouldn’t mind.”

Ed growled into the pillow. “Only if you shut up. Wait, never mind, I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.”

“You’re finally catching on.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Ed rolled onto his side to face away from Mustang. Those fingers traced the length of his spine one more time before settling lightly on his waist, and Ed ended up inching backwards so they could fall more comfortably over his stomach. It wasn’t a _request_ or anything, but he didn’t complain either when Mustang shifted closer, fitting their bodies together.

There was the barest brush of lips to Ed’s topmost vertebrae before Mustang quietly asked, “Are you really staying?”

"I am." Reaching down, Ed laid his arm over Mustang’s and drew indistinct arrays he hadn't used in years but could still remember by heart along the back of his hand. “But I meant what I said about not working for you. Maybe once you become Führer and nix the…” He paused. “Actually, no, not then either. You’ll just get distracted if I'm around, and it’s hard enough to get you to work as it is.”

He could feel Mustang smile against his skin. "It wouldn’t be that bad. I’ve gotten very good at delegating.”

“You’ve _always_ been good at delegating,” Ed accused, then used the excuse of stretching his legs to tangle the flesh and blood one with Mustang’s. “I was actually thinking of working at the university. I may not be able to use alchemy anymore, but I bet I can still teach it better than those yahoos there now.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Mustang nosed at Ed’s hair. “I was going to suggest the same thing last year, but then Falman turned in his transfer request.”

The comment jogged one of the distant thoughts that had been bouncing around Ed’s mind for most of his time in Creta. “Hey,” he said, wriggling around until he was facing Mustang. “Why _did_ you offer me a spot on your team?”

“Other than the fact that you’re smart, intuitive, and uncommonly selfless? Whether you believe it or not, the State would be lucky to have you in any capacity.” Mustang brushed the bangs out of Ed’s face, then trailed the backs of his fingers along his cheekbone. “Truthfully, though, I missed you. Terribly. Much more than I’d ever imagined.”

“But the laws…”

Mustang shrugged. “I wanted you around even if we couldn’t be together. I would’ve taken whatever I could get.”

A part of Ed had known that. Knew it instinctively long before he’d ever consciously realized it. That was why Mustang had kept coming to Resembool. His visits might not have started out that way, but that was what they’d developed into, and he hadn’t been alone. Ed had done the same thing by inviting him, finding reasons of his own to visit East City, enjoying the time they got to spend together. They'd perfected the art of making excuses to seek each other out. Inevitable seemed a bit binding, but hindsight was twenty-twenty. It certainly felt like they’d been heading towards this point for a long fucking time.

Mustang’s eyes flicked back and forth between Ed’s. “You really are remarkable, Edward,” he said.

The heart-wrenching honesty of it made Ed’s stomach perform a series of somersaults, but he covered it up the best he could with a long-suffering groan. “Of course you’d be one of _those_ people. All sappy and shit.”

“Guilty as charged. Although my master plan got somewhat twisted around. I’d intended to ask you to dinner first.”

“It’s not too late, you know.” It was never too late to plan ahead for food.

Mustang chuckled. “In that case, would you care to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“Eh, why not,” Ed said flippantly. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

The light press of fingertips to his chin brought Ed into a searing kiss that stretched into one, two, three more chaste ones. When Mustang finally pulled back, he just looked at Ed like he was some kind of… wonder. It made Ed’s knees weaker than the kiss and the sex combined. Good thing he had zero intentions of getting out of bed anytime soon. In the end, though, holding Mustang’s soft gaze was too much, so he ducked his head.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ed whispered into the hollow of Mustang's throat. It was easier to get the words out under cover of darkness. "With me?"

"A bit late for that question, isn't it?"

Ed bumped the underside of Mustang's chin. "You know what I mean."

"Oh, right. Yes, I'm sure." The arm around Ed's waist tightened, pulling him closer. "I enjoy cuddling in general. I enjoy cuddling with _you_ even more."

"Mustang," Ed droned, smiling in spite of himself, then added more seriously: "Roy." 

It was that single syllable that finally made Mustang go still. His low, contemplative hum vibrated right through his chest into Ed's. "What makes you think I wouldn't?"

"I don't know," Ed grumbled. At least his face was still hidden. It had to be beet red. "I’m just... not the ideal person to have by your side while you’re trying to climb the political ladder. I'm going to say the wrong thing in public, someone's going to get offended."

And that was only skimming the surface. There were a hundred ways things could go wrong, and the worst of the backlash would always fall on Mustang first. He didn't need that kind of trouble on top of everything else.

With a sigh, Mustang carded his fingers through Ed's hair. "You're entirely too hard on yourself. You have no idea how much people adore you, quirks and all."

"Those quirks are what's going to cause problems."

"Perhaps," Mustang admitted. "But I can stir up my fair share of problems too. Also, I've had to leave a lot of things by the wayside on my journey to make this country a better place. For once, just this one time, I want to be selfish. That being said, I don't want you to do something you're not comfortable with."

Ed blinked, chest tight. Fucking Mustang, always so considerate. And he'd called _Ed_ selfless. If he was that selfless, he'd call it off now instead of tangling up Mustang in all his issues and dragging them both down.

Thing was, the thought of leaving this behind, of grounding it when it had only just taken flight… hurt. Fuck, it hurt. Ed didn't want it to end yet. He wanted to see where this road went, and if Mustang wanted to walk it with him… well, that was his choice, right? He knew Ed better than anyone except for Al. He knew what he was getting into.

"Well, I didn't come all this way just to leave again," Ed said. "And I already told you I'm not good at sneaking around."

As far as explanations went, it was pretty terrible, but Mustang just huffed a quiet laugh. "Then we're still on for dinner tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Ed swallowed, the knot of tension unravelling. "Yeah."

"Good." Mustang pressed his lips to the top of Ed’s head, then rested his chin on it. “I'd tell you not to worry, but things will happen. They always do. But we'll work through whatever comes up together. Everything else will sort itself out.”

Ed closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let himself relax into the embrace. He'd always believed in Mustang, and he wasn't about to change that now. Everything would be fine. _They_ would be fine.


End file.
